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Though Jason isn’t one to admit when he’s wrong, taunting the suspect who is hiding at least three guns and a few knives on his person while being unarmed himself wasn’t one of his best ideas. In fact, other than his surprise trip to Ethiopia, it might be his worst idea.
Fortunately, he has experience with stab wounds. When Peter and the team come in to make the arrest, they don’t mention calling for an ambulance, so Jason assumes they didn’t notice. Jason considers that a plus; he doesn’t want to spend all night in the hospital for something he can fix at home with a needle and thread.
He can feel the blood seeping through his shirt, so he pulls his jacket tighter around him and buttons it. The last thing he needs is for someone to spot the blood and turn it into a thing.
The agents are beginning to leave the scene, following each other back to the office so they can question the suspect and then send him off to jail to await his sentence. His sentence would be harsher if they knew he’d just stabbed a consultant for the FBI, but Jason doesn’t see the point of making a mountain out of a molehill.
Once Peter stops by to tell him it’s time to go, Jason nods, lifts his foot, and falls directly on his face as the world becomes hazy and dark.
Peter sits in the Emergency Room waiting area, holding a styrofoam cup in his hands and glaring at the painting of a barn on the opposite wall.
Doctors, nurses, and EMTs flit back and forth, sending rushes of air towards him and drying the blood on his hands. He’d meant to clean them, but he hasn’t been able to take his eyes off the ruby acrylic on the canvas in front of him.
Neal hiding an injury is far from the dumbest thing he’s done, but Peter had been bold and hoped that he’d never do such a thing.
A stab wound ? How did Neal expect that to end? Why didn’t he tell him? Peter wonders if he should be concerned about Neal’s lack of concern for his own health.
Peter glances up when a pair of shoes move into his view and meets the eyes of a young nurse. She tells him that Neal is in his room recovering. He isn’t awake yet, but Peter is allowed to sit with him.
He tosses his half-full cup in the trash and doesn’t mourn its loss. Hospital coffee is notoriously bad, and he doesn’t know why he expected anything different from this hospital. It might even give the toxic waste that comes out of the machines at the office a run for its money.
He takes a detour, turning into the bathroom to wash the dried blood off his hands. The only person inside the bathroom takes one look at him, then his hands, before leaving.
Peter finds Neal’s room without much trouble. He steps inside and tries not to shudder at the sight of all the wires. The nurse had said that the surgery went well, so Peter doesn’t worry too much. He sits in the chair beside Neal’s bed and sighs.
The room is dark, so Peter can’t see Neal too well. Neal’s gown is pulled down, exposing his chest and the bandage that covers his lower stomach. Even in the dark, Peter can see the thin, precise white line that forms a Y on Neal’s chest.
It’s an old scar, possibly a decade. The line is perfect, no hesitation, and no sign of a shaky hand. Whoever did that to Neal was trained . What kind of doctor would perform an autopsy on a living person? What the hell had happened to Neal?
Peter feels vomit rise in his throat. Someone had carved up his partner, his friend , and he never knew. Neal had spent four years in prison, and the scar isn’t even in his file. He had just had surgery and the nurse hadn’t said a word about it.
The FBI had never been able to find anything about Neal before his eighteenth birthday, so Peter knows very little about his childhood. Since Neal isn’t awake to answer his questions, Peter’s overactive mind is forced to compensate for the little information he has by coming up with his own theories, and he doesn’t like any of them.
An abusive parent? A back alley medical procedure gone wrong? A particularly strange fall? Peter can’t come up with anything that actually seems plausible, and it irritates him. He hates an unsolved mystery.
Whatever the cause, though, Peter knows it will be a sensitive subject. He realizes now that he’s never seen Neal without a shirt, and it was deliberate. Neal had been careful, and one injury had completely destroyed the lie he had built.
Peter will get answers whether Neal likes it or not. He sits back in his chair and waits.
By the time Neal finally stirs, it’s nearly one in the morning. Peter feels exhaustion pull at him, but he isn’t ready to go home yet.
“Peter?” Neal asks, voice raspy.
“Neal,” Peter says. “Don’t move too much. You’ll tear the stitches.”
Neal’s hand travels down his side and comes to rest on the bandage. He hisses, then curses quietly. “Stab wounds are the worst.”
Peter frowns. Is he implying that he’s been stabbed more than once? Peter can’t see any scars that might have been caused by a blade—other than the Y shaped scar—but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
Neal is littered with other scars, though. Peter can make out a few oddly shaped ones near his collarbone. Some are longer and wide, while others are rough, jagged semi-circles. There are various smaller scars marring his abdomen and arms. They’re hard to see clearly in the dark room, but if Peter focuses, he can see them.
He wants to ask. Neal is still under the effects of the anesthesia, so he likely would give a truthful answer to anything Peter asks.
But it feels wrong to ask. Neal isn’t himself right now, and asking him invasive questions when he can’t decide what is and isn’t appropriate to share feels like exploitation.
So Peter makes a difficult decision. He’s not letting Neal off easy, he will ask him about the scar eventually. For right now, though, he decides to push away the part of him that demands answers and goes to find a nurse. Neal’s anesthesia should be wearing off soon, and he will likely need pain medication.